


Mirror, Mirror...

by PRllNCE



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Angst, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Teasing, Tickling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRllNCE/pseuds/PRllNCE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shame plagues the soul of a man whose everything had been salvaged time and time again despite his lack of worth. Richard dares not meet with his friend through the incessant disdain the monarch carries for himself, believing that the heights his affection for Asbel Lhant has taken would only serve to prove his point that he is, indeed, utterly deplorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Euphoria

**Author's Note:**

> old as balls please forgive
> 
> also i'll never finish this sorry!!

_Mirror, mirror on the wall_

_who is this man, and what does he want?_

What if you had done something so terrible, so atrocious, something which had threatened the existence of everything meaningful - and yet, you had done so with your own free will. With your own set of hands, carving a path of spent crimson, because you had wanted to. Imagine being saved from this by the people you care for the most. Forgiven. Offered another chance, a chance wasted on you. Given life, where you had taken the most. Then as you’d return to your home, intent on being worthy of this gift, the desire with which you had used to fuel the resolve of death and destruction stands in the way of being the example you’d be needed as. Fear in their eyes as you’d pass by, eliciting more, no matter how much you’d try to set things right, to place bandages on the very wound you yourself had cut in utter euphoria.

   Things kept getting progressively worse, the more Richard involved himself in what he believed to be the right thing. But even without Lambda’s influence, everything appeared tainted by his very touch. Every day, he had worked hard, optimistic, resolute. But his actions could never be erased, nor did it seem like there was a possibility to mend it.

   Truth be told, there was a more contented man gracing the hallways of Barona's fine example of architecture, this day and every other followed by his decision to live. But while his spirit carried some mirth, it didn't completely negate what had been gathered over the course of seven years and more. Bitterness and contempt had lowered their layers over the monarch's mind and clouded it considerably. Every day he had looked out that window and taken part in foolish imaginations and what-ifs of his cherished friend standing by the front gate, he had only become further disappointed with himself. Richard had known it wouldn't happen. But growing up at that time had proven to leave him with few things to look forward to. Even imaginary things had served to bring a smile to his saddened face.

   And even still, with that gentle air he had about him as he passed the maids and guardsmen in the castle, beneath was shame. It didn't appear to matter much specifically what it pointed out, it was simply everything about him. Richard took pride in many things, and so his self-loathing didn't reach every single depth imaginable, but it was there. Insisting and reminding at times when it wasn't needed, forcing the impulse to use a gloved hand to cover his own face in agony.

   The fact that these feelings were incessantly prodding only made matters worse. The world was striving for peace. The threat was gone. Richard had been saved. Again. What right did he have to feel this way? Do _keep_ feeling this way? Do keep doing, thinking, implying any of these things? He was utterly disgusting.

   The hallways caressed his steps with their echoes as the king of Windor kept moving, cape fluttering in accordance with his movements and his smooth, blond hair following as well. It was very well taken care of, a sign of awareness from the monarch. As was taught to him early, he also carried himself well, his back straight and feet firmly touching upon the floor with grace. But at the same time, it was something Richard was so accustomed to, it didn't cross his mind often.

   Reaching his destination swiftly, Richard turned the embellished knob on the door and entered his quarters, closing it behind him as he leaned onto it and raised his head, his chest sinking as he exhaled deeply. In his absence, there was always a part of him that didn't dare to meet with Asbel again. Not particularly out of shame. Not because he in any way suspected that he wasn't yet forgiven. There were simply thoughts hindering it. He didn't deserve it. Not from him.

   During all these years, as the disdain for others had grown in the depths of Richard's soul, so had his affection for the man. And it had grown to heights beyond comprehension. It wasn't so much a tale of love, as it was the only trust he had ever thought to give, a friendship fueled by the salvation of his very life, over and over in ways he'd never thought possible. It was beyond everything. His life belonged to the other, to do with as he saw fit. Would he ever understand? Would he ever understand the depths it all went to, or would he see it much in the same fashion as Richard himself, an exaggeration of ill-placed emotion, and thoughts unworthy to place in the same category as that of Asbel Lhant.

   Richard's movements were almost lethargic now. Swallowing as if bracing himself, he gingerly moved a hand upwards and pulled at the cloth by his neck, tugging at it until it loosened and he was able to remove it. He simply let it fall to the floor, disregarding his usual neatness, as he closed the distance between himself and his place of sleeping. He threw himself onto the bed, his legs still hanging from the edge, soles planted into the floor. Closed his eyes. Hated himself.

   Refusing to remove his gloves, Richard placed his fingers firmly onto his own chest, trailing them down his waist and hips, allowing them to come to a halt, before moving them up again as he exhaled softly and opened his eyes to greet the ceiling. A wrinkle developed between his brows, and Richard urged himself to turn his vision off once more, bringing his other hand into the illustration. It followed the same pattern, only reaching further down, as he reached for his inner thigh, gently massaging at the covered surface. The more he realized he was doing this to himself, the more disgusted he was, and so Richard made the attempt to close such comprehension off entirely. Even he wouldn't want to touch himself.

   But he did. All the while keeping a steady image on the inside of his eyelids.

   A gasp escaped him now, as he reached a sensitive spot. Already feeling himself twitch, he grazed the surface of his arousal with his knuckles, casting his head back at the slight sensation. He then proceeded to place his palm over the tightened fabric, moving it forward and back, trailing his thumb, index and middle finger across the sides. These actions sent an impending tremor into Richard as he was unable to stifle a moan, arching his back slightly and grinding his hips towards his own hands. He mouthed a name now in his solace, repeating it with every fissure sent into his trembling body, his boots chafing the polished floor as his hands dared to pick up the pace, rubbing firmly.

   Keeping his trousers on was severely uncomfortable considering they were already quite snug, but Richard had not the bravura to do so, insisting on limiting the touch to that of his attire. Either way, it was still enough.

   His voice grew impatient, helpless, as the teasing continued, ten fingers working to make him reach a state of electrocution. One hand roughly massaging, while the other made use of a light touch, driving himself mad as Richard's imagination wildly evolved into the sudden onslaught of frenzy he now experienced.  Releasing one of his grasps, not able to bear the teasing any longer, Richard moved his free hand up towards his hair, running it through the blond strands and leaving his arm stretched out onto the bed as the rubbing resumed. And then, the rolling of his hips turned more frequent, back arched considerably, struggling against himself, his cries of pleasure rising from that of quiet moans and staggering violently. His body shook, his feet were rooted and his hand worked faster, faster yet.

   Not even once the peak had been reached did he stop, riding it out completely through the sensational eruption of emotion, Richard's eyes rolling slightly up as his eyelids opened once more and his hips remained high in the air.

   A quiver passed his system, and there he let go, falling back onto the sheets. Heavy breathing was the sound to hover in the space of his quarters until Richard finally settled down, moving his hand from his soiled trousers. Before reality would once again cuff him to his actions, he breathed that one name.

   "Asbel..."

   And hated himself.


	2. Aphrodisimaniac

Lashes fluttered open to reveal eyes of a regal golden, riddled with fatigue. After getting accustomed to the growing light with a few disoriented blinks, their owner pulled himself up to greet it. His pristine fingers traced the wrinkles and lines of the sheets’ fabric to find the sun’s rays leaking onto it. It seemed to calm his breathing, which had been rather unstable upon his return to consciousness. But no sooner had he gotten up than he fell back down onto the bed with a massive sigh.

   Unsurprisingly -- at the very least, to himself -- Richard had fallen asleep in a nest of shame. He admitted he had indulged in inappropriate things, at inappropriate times, and taken an inappropriate amount of pleasure in it. It wasn’t the first time by far that thoughts and scenarios in his head had brought him to points beyond return. But it was always up to him to prevent it, in the event that he’d go too far. “Too far”. As these words passed his mind, Richard humoured his thoughts with the slightest inkling of “it’s not far enough”. But again, he had to stop himself. The reasons were many. He was undeserving. He was being unfair. Selfish. I-n-a-p-p-r-o-p-r-i-a-t-e. But no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, it was just a word. To make him feel better about himself, as if it magically whisked away all things he shouldn’t dare to think about.  It never did stop him. And at the back of his head, it was all still there. _He_ was always there, in innocent and far less innocent manners alike. In every manner he was needed, wanted and missed.

   But morning had arrived, and there were plenty of things to steal Richard’s attention. All things he focused on with genuine interest -- with integrity -- so they weren’t simply distractions to help him overcome his unsavory ways.

   A country was to be rebuilt. Trust along with it. It was a journey the monarch of Windor would have insisted on regardless. Regaining trust where it had once been lost was near impossible at times, and Richard tackled the beast well -- rather empathically, in fact.

   He truly was a gentler man than he had shown in the past. His bitterness had grown strong enough to touch, and Lambda had used that. There were still things about himself Richard couldn’t understand, but he knew he wanted what was best for his people, at the very least, and that was enough to work with for now. He could focus on himself later. Yes.

   But focusing on his appearance was something he couild never do without every morning. Things didn’t somehow fall into place as soon as he woke up, after all. It took standing in front of the mirror for half an hour, give or take, meticulously arranging items of clothing and making sure they fitted him perfectly. He’d almost look sewn into them, at times. His hair needed work, too -- strands were building their own nest every morning and thankfully it only needed a few brush strokes to bring them to justice. Gazing now upon the refined version of himself, a stray thought leapt into the headlights of his mind and suggested “what would Asbel think if he saw you now”, followed by an interception of “why would he think anything different, I look like I always do”, a defiant hand shoving at the mirror as if it was the object’s fault.

   “But what if he would think differently? Then how would he react?”

   Convinced there was a little devil in his head, Richard rolled his eyes and stepped away from the mirror. As if it wasn’t him thinking all these things.

   Once he left the comfort of his bedchamber, they soon disappeared, as he found other -- more important -- things to concentrate on. And for the most part, the day went on as usual, except there were no signs of hostilities that required Richard’s immediate attention, and so he never left the castle. Which was a good thing, certainly. No monsters meant he could focus on other matters, and it meant people would be safe for another day. But he would likely be alone for the most part, in his study. He just absolutely didn’t want to be alone right now. It was an utter disaster that Richard couldn’t control himself, and he continuously reprimanded himself for it. “Please keep your mind out of the gutter for a few minutes, _please_.”

   And it wasn’t entirely impossible, for there was indeed still much to do, and Richard worked hard -- there was no way he’d intentionally drag it on even to keep his uninvited lack of self-control in check. He didn’t even much enjoy to touch himself, so it aggravated him that he still found a way to want to.

   His hands and eyes moved quickly over the documents on his desk, routine showing in the fluid movements. And sure enough, the position of the sun had changed quite a bit from its starting point by the time he was done. Richard allowed himself to lean back for a bit, massaging his wrist. A contented sigh left through parted lips and he remained in this relaxed state for a while, just focusing on making himself feel good.

   Richard flew up from his chair once he realized what he’d been about to do. Considering this was a room some could enter freely, he was glad he’d managed to stop himself from being a blasted idiot. At this point it would seem like anything could get him going, and it was simply insane. What he needed now was some fresh air to help him collect himself.

   Outside, the view was stunning and the breeze was lovely. Just inhaling and enveloping himself with the warm light the sun offered did wonders, and it seemed to beckon him. So for now, Richard decided to leave the castle area in search of an even more accommodating spot, where he might be able to relax without fear of placing himself in an awkward situation.

   Wherever he went, there were plenty of people around, their inquiring eyes on him like leeches. If anything, it stirred up his nerves a bit, but to be seen was also necessary. There was no way Richard would betray his senses among people, so he’d be safe. He didn’t want to appear lazy, however, so he couldn’t stay and bask in the light for long. A walk would suffice, and he never emerged into the crowded parts of Barona. He did find a delightful place to perch in the shade behind a house, however, so for but a moment Richard chose to make use of it. Poor choice, he distantly thought as his consciousness began to dwindle from the sudden blow to his head. He’d curse the disarray of his thoughts for not sensing its approach, had he the ability.

 

He awoke to complete darkness and reflexes causing his entire body to tense up as if preparing for an oncoming attack. But it was too late now, and it was more important that he’d stay calm and get his bearings. It didn’t take long for him to become aware of his bound body, making escape quite an undertaking until he could free himself of the ropes. It shouldn’t take too long, provided he could regain his strength. For whatever reason -- likely due to the blow to his head, he mused -- Richard had trouble summoning enough energy. It didn’t exactly improve the situation when he considered the piece of fabric tightly pressing against his eyes, and the one forcibly shoved into his mouth. All this as a means to silence and give birth to fear, no doubt.

   Richard tried moving as much as he could, simultaneously feeling around to get an idea of what place he’d been put in. Wooden floor planks. The wall was of a similar build, and he was leaning against it, sitting down with his legs slightly spread. His knees were bent, and so his feet were pressed against the floor. He’d move out of this position, but he couldn’t budge, save for spreading his legs further. This could only mean his calves had been bound to something, so it wasn’t just an empty room.

   The disoriented king was still weak, but by pressing his back against the wall and then arching it, he could slowly make his way up to standing, seeing as his hands were only tied to themselves behind him, the ropes attached to nothing. Richard had to push out his lower body, supporting himself heavily on his legs, and slide upwards with his torso. But his first attempt sent him back to the floor with a thump. He didn’t move for a while, considering his options and catching his breath. But his thoughts stopped abrubtly when a massive tingle ran through his entire body and sent a confused whimper into the cloth. His legs shook, and he desperately wanted to close them, but however hard he pulled, they remained open, exposing him, deliciously spreading him raw -- no. Wait. This was the absolute last thing that should cross Richard’s mind at a time like this. Not to mention he was utterly unable to even touch himself. Why was he experiencing such feral want from nothing? And how would it ever be satisfied by just sitting there?

   His heels frantically clicked against the floor, attempting to defy the throbbing of a desire sprung from nowhere. It left Richard bewildered and almost afraid. Would the people who had left him like this see him in this state? Would he be left like this? For how long? It was already unbearable and it had barely been a few minutes, he couldn’t imagine handling it for even longer. Why was this happening? Had he been fed something? Was he delusional? At this point, Richard felt inclined to believe both.

   This was further supported by the light touch tracing down his twitching protrusion, causing him to arch his back once more in surprise. He listened through his own heavy breathing, but found no reason to believe he had any company. He almost relaxed, the sudden fear having been crippling, but the touch returned. It teased him in a manner bordering insulting, and although Richard was absolutely sure no one else was present, he protested into the cloth, but it came out as a pitiful moan and sounded more like “do it again” than “stop doing it”. Whatever caused his misery seemed to believe the first, and as it made taunting, circling motions across his arousal, Richard recognized it as something akin to a feather, lightly and mischievously scattering stimulation beneath his tightening trousers, somehow only finding the spots that drove him insane and tickling them with a vicious greed. A muffled whine escaped as Richard struggled to close his legs, his hurry spurred on by the fact that someone could be watching, but they wouldn’t close, they remained spread and he remained bound.

   There was no one there. Despite the feather’s ridiculing motions, Richard knew there was no other presence. So what was happening? Was he imagining this?

   While he was busy considering this, Richard felt his erection release from his trousers, exposed and leaking, and his heart started racing violently in his chest, his heels clicking and scratching in protest once more. This he knew he couldn’t have pulled off on his own, and even still, there was no one there. Or was there? The confusion continuously grew and Richard whimpered loudly under its mercy, the sound staggering into several quick and bewildered moans as the feather motions tormented his tip in swift circles, refusing to even pause. Now, too, Richard thought his cries sounded more like “please don’t stop”, and of course, the touch didn’t intend to.

   Since he couldn’t close his legs even a little, Richard ended up spreading them further, his heels slamming against the floor every time he rolled his hips up towards the tickling along his shaft. It now felt like several feathers as opposed to one, and they were all determined to find even the smallest spots that could incapacitate him. But it was too much, and Richard attempted to pull himself up through the shaking. But this only seemed to place the touches into a frenzy, and they sped up nefariously, focusing in every place he couldn’t even find on his own. The worst part about this was that he’d never climax this way, they’d just keep tormenting him until he could no longer bother to move. It was so incredibly dangerous and enticing, but of course he couldn’t give in to that thought.

   The objections of the touches caused Richard’s legs to shake too violently, and he fell back into their teasing, now somehow antagonized by the fact that he couldn’t spread his legs enough. It produced another whining moan that dragged on for a little longer, due to the feathers now deciding to all focus on the same place, the one spot that was just too much. There was little pause between his whimpers now, and they often transformed into soft moans before increasing in volume and becoming desperate cries of “anywhere but there”. As if he’d said something out of line, whatever delusional force of his mind that made him imagine this grabbed hold of his hair and pulled, causing him to arch his back quite a lot in order to not hurt his neck. He was left unsatisfied in that position for a short while that felt like an unbearable eternity for the poor king.

   After that, there was no other explanation for this than being put into some sort of delusional state, because Richard’s hands were now tied above his head, stretching his arms tightly, and his legs were spread to the point where he couldn’t place the bottom of his feet onto the floor anymore. The ropes felt sturdy around his knees.

   The torture resumed.

   Now they were everywhere. Not so much that it made him laugh, but enough to send a tingle rushing through his system with every touch. The focus on his crotch had turned from teasing to sensual, to violent. While the rest of his body was being entertained by the lightest of touches, his chest especially falling victim to crippling brushes of feathery teasing, he was being continuously pumped up and down, yet still not allowed to come. Occasionally, he would flinch to more dangerous tickling of his tip, while whatever clutched the remainder of his erection moving roughly, keeping a steady, quick pace to match Richard’s muffled yells for mercy. Everything was simultaneously too light, too rough, too teasing, too violent, too frightening, too good. Every place that could be tantalized was put to sweet use.

   Richard begged, even as he wasn’t heard, even as his words couldn’t come out due to the cloth in his mouth, he pleaded and begged to please let him come, even if people were watching, even if they were enjoying themselves on his expense, he didn’t care, he’d been at his peak for so long now, he couldn’t bear it any longer.

   And then his imagination did something dreadful.

   He thought Asbel was watching him.

   He thought Asbel was the person rubbing his arousal, brushing his nipples, and somehow he could swear he felt a tongue swiftly lapping at his tip. And somehow -- although all of this impossible -- he felt Asbel thoroughly enjoying his agony.

   What felt like several hands all took turns having their way, poking and tracing, rubbing, massaging and pumping. Teeth left marks on sensitive areas, while tongues greedily licked the aftermath, and all the while Richard felt feathers dance, brushing against his exposed underarms as if to mock him for the fact that he couldn’t move. And it continued, disregarding his pleading moans which had evolved into screams of pleasure as Richard forgot everything that wasn’t happening, his eyes rolling back in euphoria just as light peered in from an opening door and he orgasmed violently, several lovely moans indicating just how long he had been waiting and how mind-numbing it was to finally experience it. But even as it passed and his moans turned to heavy breathing, the muffled sounds returned once more as Richard felt himself getting felt up, rubbed and teased, regardless of his satisfying orgasm, a desperate, loud whimper begging the force to stop but giving in as his erection returned, somehow worse this time.

   But to the person on the other side of the room, standing in the light from the opened door, there was only a bound man erotically moaning to by his lonesome.


End file.
